


On Sappho and Strong Tea.

by dancedance_resolution



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: 3rd person from Lena's POV, Angst Without a Happy Ending (haha rip), Canon Compliant, F/F, Lena Luthor Character Study, Post-5x19 / Post-Season 5 Finale, like a song fic but instead of a song it's a sara teasdale poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:14:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25233715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancedance_resolution/pseuds/dancedance_resolution
Summary: But who needed therapy when too-strong, too-hot tea and a worn Sara Teasdale anthology were there to help Lena through her shit?---lena reflects on her relationship with kara and where it stands now (post-s5). lots of supercorp angst.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	On Sappho and Strong Tea.

Lena Luthor never claimed to be adept with emotions. She could tackle the most complex chemistry and physics and engineering issues, sure, but when it came to coping with or even identifying her emotions, Lena was profoundly unskilled. Hell, the fact that she even used the nice, sanitized euphemism “unskilled” rather than the appropriate description—“ _a fucking mess_ ”—was probably only further evidence of her problem.

But who needed therapy when too-strong, too-hot tea and a worn Sara Teasdale anthology were there to help her through her shit? (Lena chose to ignore when her mind emphatically echoed the answer—“ _You! You_ fucking need therapy!"—to what she had wanted to be solely a hypothetical question.) So she curled up in her adoptive mother’s vintage armchair, once exclusively reserved for Lillian’s crocheting exploits, and got to devouring the poetry collection.

Lena supposed she’d read over the antique hard-back at least twenty times, whether in ravenous single-sittings or piecemeal collections of quiet moments. But the tapestry of meditations and hymns, whose words were now faded from the steady drag of Lena’s finger over them, always seemed to craft and inhabit a warm hearth in Lena’s soul.

There was a tea stain on the bottom left edge of the sixty-second page, “To Sapho II,” and the stiff corner now served as a sort of bookmark for a self-indulgent Lena. Each line of that particular work seemed to punctuate the feelings that had overpowered her soul for the past year; each line seemed to serve as a precariously painful reminder of all that was _Kara._

Because Kara truly was the “Impassioned singer of the happy time,” a woman who could deliver an iconic hope speech with the capability to save, quite literally, billions of lives. Her brilliantly blue eyes chorused odes to the best in the world. And god, Lena should _despise_ her naïve optimism, but every time Kara’s soft smile met her gaze, she felt herself only further drawn into Kara’s rose-colored world.

“When all the world was waking into morn,” Kara was there. She was the gentle hand that guided her family, her friends, her _Earth_ , into the lightness of a dawn in which they could thrive. When they gained Supergirl as a protector and a source of hope, they grew into the freedom that comes with the ability to recklessly love others without fear. “And dew still glistened on the tangled thorn” of society: Through all the imperfections, through all the pain, through all the heartbreak, people kept going. National City wouldn’t surrender to Myriad, wouldn’t surrender to Daxamites, wouldn't surrender to worldkillers, wouldn’t surrender to a bleak future. No, they held their head up and endured.

So Lena must as well. 

Supergirl—no, _Kara_ —illuminated the world with her positive influence that danced upon the aeons “[a]nd lingered on the branches of the lime.” It inspired people—or, more specifically, Lena herself—to do _good_ and to keep persevering. So how was Lena supposed to cope when she learned that the glassy and clear dew was an illusion? What was she to do when Lex made her confront the fact that the dew was actually opaque this whole time?

“Oh peerless singer of the golden rhyme,” oh force that kept Lena’s heart beating. “Happy wert she to live ere doubt was born” in that same fragile heart. When Lex confronted Lena with the idea that Kara Danvers had hidden a significant part of herself from Lena… Sure, “[b]efore the joy of life was half out-worn,” they had lived in the most ignorant of blisses. But the word betrayal never felt good on Lena’s tongue; through the years, she had chewed through each syllable, dissecting each sound, and all she was left with was bitter—no accompanying sweet.

“And nymphs and satyrs vanished from her clime” as the world grew to doubt Supergirl back during the Red Daughter mess. (Lena found herself wondering how Kara felt about that. What would Kara have confided in her, had Lena known that Kara was Supergirl back then? Would Kara be better off if Lena had been able to be there for her? Would their friendship be better off?)

(Of course, what was Lena doing, fooling herself into believing that she had something to offer Kara? Fooling herself into believing that she had some worth to Kara? Lena’s mind scoffed at the idea; she knew that _she_ was that bastard satyr, abandoning Kara—and attempting to abandon her feelings for Kara—the second she felt the least bit uneasy.)

(God, fuck the idea of “deserved.” Lena detested the concept.)

Ever since Lena was forced to reckon with the fact that her best friend had been lying to her this whole time, and that her supposed chosen family had only bolstered that lie, she had to live with a stark dichotomy in her sense of self-worth. Because she was Lena Fucking Luthor, powerful and intelligent enough to cure the world of all its pains and ills. But she was also Lena Fucking Luthor, a feeble little girl there for Kara to toy with in her mighty palms.

“Then maidens bearing parsley in their hands / Wound thro' the groves to where the goddess stands.” It wasn’t until her third reading of the poem that Lena realized that she was the maiden, the foolishly eager wanderer who bore a trivial excuse for a gift—namely, an apparently false and shallow friendship—for Kara. And Lena knew, without a doubt, that Kara was as close to a goddess as she would ever meet; hell, if some stranger told Lena that the revered Pantheon statues were modeled after the Kryptonian’s exquisite form, Lena would believe them in a heartbeat.

An increasingly excruciating and effort-demanding heartbeat.

“And mariners might sail for unknown lands / Past sea-clasped islands veiled in mystery” just to bear witness to Supergirl’s feats. Yet Supergirl—er, Kara—chose, among those millions, _Lena_. And yes, that friendship was flawed and scarred, but Kara remained. Kara stayed loyal, stayed smiling, stayed there for her. Their friendship was an imperfect canvas, tattooed with the vibrant colors of their connection and closeness.

Maybe that’s why it hurt like hell when Lena learned that the canvas had had a violent gash in its center this whole time.

“And Venus still was shining from the sea,” vulnerable and yet to be clothed by the Graces. “And Ceres had not lost Persephone” and been forced into a toxic cycle all for the sake of a love.

Last night, standing in that dimly lit basement lab—that was the first time Lena had addressed her as “Kara” whilst she bore that godforsaken suit. That boldly colored reminder of the piercing _hurt_ of knowledge and lack thereof, that boldly colored reminder of how Lena could trace Kara’s every muscle and curve and never grow tired of her beauty.

And then they shook hands. And Lena’s walls tumbled down, her tears a white flag. And while the poem mourned the loss of Sappho’s Spring, Lena knew that a new Spring was just on the horizon, ready to dawn again.

 _But here’s the thing_ , Lena’s mind relentlessly reminded her.

 _Kara is no Sappho_.

**Author's Note:**

> lena,,bb,,,kara is very much a sappho,,,,, (jessica queller who.) 
> 
> ///
> 
> The poem Lena is reading is "To Sappho I" by Sara Teasdale:  
> Impassioned singer of the happy time  
> When all the world was waking into morn,  
> And dew still glistened on the tangled thorn,  
> And lingered on the branches of the lime —  
> Oh peerless singer of the golden rhyme,  
> Happy wert thou to live ere doubt was born —  
> Before the joy of life was half out-worn,  
> And nymphs and satyrs vanished from your clime.  
> Then maidens bearing parsley in their hands  
> Wound thro' the groves to where the goddess stands,  
> And mariners might sail for unknown lands  
> Past sea-clasped islands veiled in mystery —  
> And Venus still was shining from the sea,  
> And Ceres had not lost Persephone.
> 
> ///
> 
> Thank you for reading!! Comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)))  
> Please do not re-post my work anywhere.


End file.
